Are people angrier now than they used to be? Or are we simply less angry in retirement and notice others more now?

Anger is a compound matter. Once you’re angry everything is seen through the angry lens. The angrier you get the more you find things to be angry about. Every situation has two (or more) angles and choosing the angry negative side adds to the anger escalation. I think people can string enough anger together to be angry for life. How sad; it’s like they wake up and choose anger. Unfortunately, anger is contagious and it rubs off to others. A downward domino effect.

Anger manifests in different ways. Driving for example. There are a lot of angry drivers out there nowadays. They tailgate impatiently until they’ve had enough. Then they swerve erratically to get around only to be stuck in the same place one lane over. Now they’re even angrier. More careless driving manoeuvres. Same results. When these drivers find other angry drivers in their path it’s a recipe for disaster. An angry driver who is being tailgated for example, will drive aggressively to ensure the tailgater is more frustrated. Speeding up when he’s trying to pass. Narrowing the gap between cars to prevent a merge. It’s scary to watch.

Parking lots is another scary zone for anger observers. The same angry drivers are so wound up by the time they hit the parking lot their patience is paper thin. If the parking lot is busy and congested it’s even worse. I recently watched a video showing a parking lot smack down between two women. Anger has no prejudice.

Inside the store the angry parkers are pushing their buggies recklessly. Scowling. Reprimanding their kids in some cases. By the time you catch up to them at the checkout they are flush with anger and their kids are wild. The anger has transferred and manifests at the point of the store where temptation runs high. The candy filled check out funnel. Just stand back and watch the show.

I’ve met the angry people everywhere. Work. Play (angry pickleball people are often shunned). Rest.

I have a theory that pain causes anger. Pain evokes a negative response which can be in the form of anger. No one jumps with glee after stubbing their toe, for example. Emotional pain also causes anger. Carol at pickleball says that when she’s feeling sad she goes for a walk with a smile on her face. At first she has to fake the smile but after an hour of forced smiling it sticks. She thinks it’s counter productive to be around loved ones when you’re sad since you suck them in too. I thought that was a great reaction. She lost her longtime spouse to cancer a few years ago. She’s sad that he’s gone and angry that she’s alone in her golden years. I think she’s wise.

At yoga there’s a “happy baby” pose. Our teacher does this pose at the end of the practice right before savasana. Basically you’re on your back feet in the air and your holding your feet. She tells us to rock side to side like a baby. And smile. She will also add “remember how carefree and joyful you were as you smile and enjoy the pose”. Same theory: smiling makes you happy.

It could be the hormones: there are four happiness hormones and ways to trigger them

4 Chemicals That Activate Happiness, & How to Gamify Them

If anger is a choice then happiness should be, too. What a concept.

If anger is contagious then happiness should be too. Wow.

I admit, I have a lot to be happy about. I’m joyfully married to the love of my life. We have a wonderful existence with our girl Molly and our family. We are healthy. We are active. We are grateful.

I Choose happy.

Retirees have time on their hands. This phenomenon gives rise to random thoughts and imagination. I love to soak in the bathtub. Always have. But now in retirement mode, soaking has new dimensions.

1. I no longer disrupt my tranquility with stressful, guilty thoughts of what I could be doing instead of relaxing. The fact is there’s nothing I “should” be doing and therefore a pleasant soak is a top priority.

2. My sister provides me with delightful scented bath products from Molten Brown. Everyone knows I have a proclivity to heady scents and today’s intoxicating version of Ylang Ylang is now my new favourite. That could easily change since I have a couple of scents left in my sampler pack from Christmas.

3. A bath provides necessary muscle relief from overdoing it at pickleball or other physical activities. I can actually apply some of the yogic breathing techniques and feel the tension leave my muscles. It’s therapy at its finest.

4. As I lather the scented bubbles into my hair and over my skin it occurs to me that I have very little body hair. My friend says that as we age we lose our hair; she calls it fallen feathers. I tend to agree; there’s just less hair where it should be. But more than desired where it shouldn’t.

I lie back to ponder the matter of hair. I’ve never had tons being a fair person. Even my head hair is sparse and fine. I have a friend who inherited her dads bushy dark brows; we’ve often mused if the curtains match the rug. She good naturedly assures ya that indeed it does. And it’s more like the national forest than a rug. Good to know. I wonder if her feathers will fall?

It’s the unwanted hair growth that has me baffled. Seriously. Whiskers and chest hairs are not for females. It’s just not right. My sister is the expert freelance dermatologist; she can find even the most obscure misplaced follicle and wreak havoc. She’s the friend who would not only tell you that there’s something in your teeth; she would dig it out, too. She’s very helpful like that. I think she’s secretly addicted to Dr Pimplepopper and lives vicariously through the extractions.

There’s certainly more weird hairs appearing now than before. But I’ve had a moustache for years. Not so subtlety pointed out by my husband in our early married years on the ski slope. At the base of the run he tells me point blank: you’re moustache is frozen. Horrified I grab my goggles to use as a mirror. And there, in full frozen glory, is a perfect upper lip moustache. I quickly lick it off. And run at the next opportunity to the salon for a wax. The horror.

Now it’s the chin whiskers. They are coarse and stubborn. Not even waxable. They need a power pluck. It’s so satisfying to feel the tweezers grab onto to the stubble and escape from the follicle. Sometimes I have to look closely to see if it left a crater it’s so thick. Satisfied momentarily knowing that the next day another one (or more) will appear in the empty space.

It’s the fine long hairs that are easily missed by the naked eye or the feel of exploring finger tips. I would be remiss if I didn’t share the story of my friend’s encounter with a demon hair. We were standing in the wintry sunshine in front of a restaurant waiting for another friend to arrive. We are bundled up for cold weather in spite of the sun; coats and scarves. In the bright sun I notice a white hair on my friends scarf. She has a blond dog and all dog owners know the issues of fur shedding. I reach over to pull off the hair. And as I tug it from the scarf my friend winces and says ouch! OMG! That’s not fur and it’s attached to her neck! I offer to remove the offensive stray hair and as I pluck it out we examine it closely. It’s long! At least 2 inches. And it’s white! We have our topic for lunch discussion.

It was foreshadowing…..

We all have those unwanted hairs now! Most of them don’t match the rug or the drapes! Please .. let these feathers fall! If heredity is an indication I’m in trouble. My mom has plenty of facial hair that my sister admonishes me for not grooming. I’m in denial.

Just for good measure I’m going to shave my legs. I need reading glasses to see if my underarms are ok. Might as well do them too …

Group activities are fun. Most of the time. I think they’re more fun in retirement. When you’re working you always have to be patient and flexible. We got pretty good at faking these characteristics on days when we’d rather just shake some common sense into people. Or get in their face and yell. We didn’t. We held ourselves together until we were in private and then blurted out our fantasies over a bottle of wine. or two.

Working with groups of people during the work week made us shy away from group things on our down time. We simply couldn’t handle the dynamics of groups for leisure events. Yet most of our friends are group types. We call them herds.

Herds are interesting to observe. There’s usually a self proclaimed leader and followers. There may be a wannabe leader who tries to undermine the real leader. Some of the followers may enjoy the disruption. Mostly they just carry on. Over the years we have infiltrated many herds as our diverse circle of friends span numerous herds.

In the early days it was the baseball herd. We enjoyed their company on Sunday’s before, during and after men’s 3-pitch. There was a lot of drinking and joking. But other than Sunday’s we didn’t see that herd much except for one couple (who introduced us to the herd). Others from the herd did lots of things together: kids activities, date nights, and even vacations. That herd invited us to join another of their herd activities: a monthly euchre night. That was fun too. And each time we went we enjoyed the outing but we were amazed how much time they spent together as a herd.

Another fun herd was the boaters. They all hung out at the marina and spent hours on end together. Their summer boating adventures turned into winter events and now snow bird lifestyles.

Here’s the thing about herds: spending so much time together means that everyone knows everything about the other. And jealousy/envy can take root over time. As herd outsiders we can watch the drama unfold and then step out with impunity. Herds love interlopers as they provide fresh news and entertainment. As interlopers we don’t need to share deep dark secrets because there’s not enough time. It’s perfect for us.

The other thing we weren’t able to handle well was conformity. Clearly we aren’t rule abiders. Not that we defiantly break rules or cause trouble, but we test limits and question what we think are useless rules. Leaders of herds are generally wary of our type since we will challenge their authority if necessary.

Now that we’re retired we have a little more tolerance for the herds. We no longer spend our days navigating group dynamics. We have more brain capacity for being followers.

There’s a vast difference between a group and a herd. Groups get together for activities and fun events; you can be in several groups at one time. Herds are a way of life; same group to do everything with all the time. We can do the group but not the herd.

Yesterday we joined a group bike ride. It was the herd from our pickleball group. We play pickleball 2x per week. The herd plays everyday and sometimes multiple times per day. They do all kinds of activities together.

It was great to have an organized bike ride into a new area. We really enjoyed it. I’m grateful for the herd letting us in.

I’ve always been a voracious reader. I can polish off books faster than a contestant at a hot dog eating contest. But I’ve hit a block. Why can’t I concentrate on a book these days? I’ve been dragging around the same book for a while and can’t seem to get the motivation to sit and read. Instead I prefer games on my devices or flipping through magazines. And not useful magazines either. I’m talking about the cheesy tabloids with provocative headlines announcing a “Friends” reunion or a disastrous home town date on the Bachelor. (I watch neither of these shows).

I talked to my friend about this as we headed to our facial appointment yesterday. She advised that I give myself permission to take a break a from reading and my passion would return. Am I finding not enjoying reading stressful? Am I creating stress in my life because I miss it?

It made me start to think about drama and stress and how we might need a bit of both to prosper and even survive. We aren’t built to putter along in a flat line. Flat line = dead. No? Knowing we have a deadline or a conflict or a pressure point makes us respond or react in a certain way. Without those provocations we stagnate. I’m starting to see that maybe I make up stress in my mind to rekindle a sensation I’ve lost in retirement. Maybe I need a shrink.

For example yesterday. This ridiculous situation (I can say that now with perfect 20/20 hindsight ) caused me terrific stress on what should have been a relaxing and enjoyable experience at the salon getting pampered. Here’s the scenario:

After a houseful of guests we hired a cleaner to come and scour the entire place. We discussed a few options for date and time since we have to coordinate for someone to be home; we don’t know the cleaner well enough to provide the access code. Also we don’t want to leave Molly home; again it’s a familiarity concern. We need a three hour window to accommodate her service. However it turns out on the day of the cleaning we both have booked other appointments (Rudy booked a golf game last minute). My gut tells me to cancel my appointment. We discuss and decide Molly will be fine. I will let the cleaner in and Rudy will be home in time to let her out and pay her. My appointment (booked a few weeks ago) is 45 min away or more if there’s traffic. Rudy’s golf is 10 minutes away no matter the traffic. He should be home by the time the three hour window of cleaning is up. I can’t help myself; I ask Rudy repeatedly (neurotically) if he’s sure he can get home in 3 hours. He assured me (nicely at first) that it will be fine (after the seventh time I ask he’s not so nice).

The cleaner, as we’ve discovered, is later than earlier. If she says arrival between 9 and 10 it means 10:15. My appointment is for 11:15 so it can work. She arrives at 10:05. I leave a note with Rudy’s number telling her he’s up the road and she should text him when she’s 15 min from completion. She understands. I leave her and Molly in the house and leave. There’s a lump in my throat. When I arrive to my friends house to pick her up she notices my angst. I tell her I’ve just left my most precious commodity (Molly) with a virtual stranger. It will be fine my friend assured me.

Side note: when you’re working you somehow juggle a dozen balls; in retirement two is a challenge. It’s a strange phenomenon.

So driving, talking and worrying silently about the home front is giving me a headache. I keep glancing at my phone to see if there’s a text from the cleaner. A million unrealistic (and, frankly, downright stupid) possibilities runs through my brain. She runs to her car to get bleach and Molly runs out to the street. Molly is laying on the floor in her way and she clobbers Molly with the broom. Molly barks in her face so she sprays disinfectant at her.

I’m coming unglued.

We arrive at the salon. It’s 11:10 am. We are officially late. But they accommodate us (mire stress). There are no messages on my phone. I turn off the notifications as I try to prepare my mind for a 60 minute treatment. Luckily I’m able to dial my brain back. In fact I tumble into to a restful snooze while lotions and potions are massages into my face and then gently wiped off. The hour flies by.

Side note: when doing unpleasant or strenuous things (work out for example) an hour seems like forever; when doing something pleasurable time evaporates in a poof!

My treatment is over. It’s after 1. I have messages on my phone. The cleaner is done and she’s leaving the house. No Rudy. Pow!! I’m punched back into full on stress mode. My friend comes out of her treatment on a cloud of tranquility; she can tell by my face that somethings up. It’s all good I tell her ( not wanting to suck get into my stressful rabbit hole). My frantic texts to Rudy and the cleaner are answered. They have connected. Rudy is home (finally) Molly is ok the house is clean and the cleaner is returning to get paid. Whew.

I try to salvage my peace of mind. Too late. I have a pounding headache. I haven’t eaten at all and they served me sweetened tea at the salon. We drive home and there’s Friday afternoon traffic. My head is throbbing.

When I finally get home I’m done. Like dinner. Oh right. Dinner. I have to think about cooking something. Groan.

Walking in the door I’m greeted by my friendly Molly. Always happy. Rudy is at the table reading; he tells me there’s pizza. Oh good. I’m famished.

How was the spa Rudy asks?

It was great …. thanks for the pizza.

We settle in for a quiet night in our clean house. With our happy puppy. It’s all good.

How’s this for endurance: Victor Newman is celebrating 40 years on YandR! We used to watch that after high school; it was a great show because you could skip it for days (maybe even weeks) and still get the gist. Recently the show came back into my life when my uncle was watching it in the hospice. He filled me in on who’s who. I recalled some of the names but he laughed and said they were long gone.

Some things endure while others don’t.

The turtle pie we ordered from Baskin Robbins for my dads birthday, for example, did not endure the production process. The cake maker didn’t show up for work and the manager tried to fill in. Oops. It was a pile of goo that she gave us for free. After a bit of freezing it seemed to recover somewhat but nonetheless it was tasty. The flavour endured while the formation didn’t. I think I would rather have the taste than the look.

We attended the NHL game in Tampa the other night. The players have endurance. Athletics is a pleasure to watch. Our friend bought amazing seats (five rows from up at centre ice) so we could witness the speed and finesse. Even the body checks were larger than life. You can never see and feel the glass rattle like you can in person.

Yesterday my sister brought my folks to our place to stay for a few days. Aging parents are like little kids: needy. It’s a continual checklist of things. Do you have your hat? Cane? Glasses? I know that whole scene is driving my mom crazy. In her demented brain she’s entirely annoyed that she isn’t in charge of things anymore. She is not accepting the new normal and fighting it every way. Petulant child. A few drinks doesn’t help her frame of mind. I can see the wheels turning as she surveys the situation from her dimming eyes: why can’t I do (insert any everyday activity here) anymore. Her only control mechanism now is wine consumption and ordering my dad around a bit. My moms endurance is in her memories while my parents love for each other endures eternity.

We sat at the tv last night. My sister and I wedged into the love seat together. As we watched tv and fiddled on our devices my sister burped incessantly. They were foul little air puffs. I glanced over and evil eyed her. It’s the onions she tells me. Great. Endurance: her ability to burp for ever or my tolerance of it. She even invoked my brothers strategy of yore: burp and blow it in the direction of others. Nice.

Rudy bought me lovely roses for Valentine’s Day. They were delivered in a gorgeous vase and chock full of babies breath. I hope they endure for some time.

Loved ones are the ultimate endurance. Time and space are not relevant. There’s an aura of love around the dining table when we gather.

Lucky us.

Love, in all its forms, is expressed through music and art. It’s on full display throughout nature. It’s splashed with abandon around retail outlets this time of year. Everywhere we look there is love.

Love eludes those who can’t envision its glory. Some say before you can find love with others you have to love yourself. I think if you want to be loved you have to be lovable. Open your heart and let love in. Even though love may have abandoned you or wounded you there’s always more to follow if you let it.

But what about love at first sight? A fleeting moment where two people meet and the attraction is instantaneous. You follow where it leads. Sometimes a dead end and other times a blooming beauty. Finding true love is a gift. A miracle to cherish and be thankful for everyday.

When I see couples who have endured decades together I see honesty and respect. I see compassion and humour. Passion and patience. It’s the vows of marriage in action and purpose. Rudy and I have enjoyed 32 years and hopefully many more to come. Our relationship has been a true partnership in every way. I’m grateful and very aware of my good fortune. Rudy’s parents were married on this day in 1942. They were in love in life until they parted. I know they are together again.

My friends talk about their grandkids. I think that’s pure love and joy. Knowing their children were so loved and nurtured that they are passing that power of love onto a new generation. When my friends talk about their grandkids there is a contented sparkle in their eye. It’s a beautiful thing.

Love in its purest form is the companionship of a pet. Molly loves unconditionally. When she gazes at you her eyes are soulful and loving. There’s no judgement or foul nature. There’s only love.

Love is all around. It’s in the air. It’s also my dads birthday. Fitting I think that such a gentleman would be born on a day set aside for sweethearts. He exudes love.

Today we celebrate love in all its splendour. Carpe diem. ❤️

Our friends hosted an Oscars party last night. It was just the four of us but we walked the red carpet and did interviews. Started the evening with sparkling wine. But it went downhill from there.

The oscars aren’t what they used to be. It’s sad.

Billy Porter on the red carpet makes it look like a circus. His outlandish outfits and hyper mannerisms are hard to watch. The glamour has all but evaporated. The stars are virtually non existent to be replaced with unknowns. The nominees are dull.

There were a few stand outs such as Regina King. She looked stunning and every bit the glam Hollywood icon. Sadly she was a lone wolf. The show itself lacked the glitz of previous years. Perhaps it’s been a steady decline and will be a meh event from now on.

Nonetheless we filled in our ballots but all was essentially for nought as Parasite took the night. An American Hollywood awards show where the winner of the day can’t speak English. Yikes. And enough with the political ranting. I think I agree with Ricky Gervais. Our host (in charge of the remote control) muted the sound on numerous occasions. It was censorship of the viewer in its finest form. We’d rather chat or fiddle with our devices than listen to a misguided and misplaced opinion from the stage. Ugh.

Our intentions were good but the show itself popped the balloon. It may we’ll be the last oscars we watch. No host. No momentum. No pizazz.

As Rudy said when we got home close to midnight “we just wasted 5 hours”. He’s right I’m afraid. This Oscar show was a wiener.

My husband is a civil war enthusiast so I’m familiar with the significance of the name Robert Lee. But this is Robert A. Not general. Not even a gentleman. This is a strange bird.

At my uncles death bed in the hospice, was where I met Mr Lee. My dad saw his name in the guest book and said: “oh. He’s here”. We walked down the hallway and into the room. My aunt was there, a fixture, and sitting next to my uncle was Mr Lee. He was an elderly man with a large frame and white hair.

He was talking. Loudly. That was my first impression. Loud. My uncle, frail and tiny in the big hospital bed, tucked under blankets and looking worn out, was listening. I took a seat next to my aunt. My dad sat next to Mr Lee. Introductions were made. And quickly Mr Lee resumed his booming oration.

At first I thought he was speaking loudly because my uncle was so weak and speaking softly. Almost squeaking. But I quickly realized it was Mr Lee who was profoundly hard of hearing and was desperate to hear his own voice. He had worked with my dad and uncle at the factory. FAG was (is) a German owned bearing manufacturing facility. Mr Lee, it turns out, was an engineer. But he wasn’t German. He learned some German out of need as many of the top brass and coworkers spoke German only or mostly.

Mr Lee’s other association with my uncle is as a neighbour. They live a few doors apart on the same street. Among other stories Mr Lee shared a time when he and my uncle worked on the neighbourhood well as the toilets were malfunctioning. Mr Lee droned on about many things in his loud booming voice. It didn’t take long for Mr Lee to get on my nerves. I almost cringed watching my poor ailing uncle since as the booming continued. None of it was particularly interesting. Funny how when someone you care about is dying you don’t want to hear a braggart blow his own horn.

He had brought two books along from home to show my uncle. (What was he thinking?) and to be polite my aunt picked one up. It was about German castles. She had been a nanny after the war as a teenager and her wealthy employers lived in a castle. She was even able to point out her room in the castle on the photo in the book. Mr Lee was not impressed. Instead he aimed the conversation (one sided as it was) to the subject of his choice. German concentration camps. What did my uncle know about them? I thought I might leap over the death bed and throat punch this buffoon. Really?? Auschwitz?? My uncle squeaked out a response. My dad jumped in to close the subject.

Mr Lee then started a real estate diatribe about property values on their street. I don’t know what he was fishing for but the entire line of questioning was inaccurate and awkward. That petered out in a hurry.

When Mr Lee had exhausted his gas bag, he got up to leave and my dad extended his hand to shake. Mr Lee turned the other way. Ironically president Trump made a similar move on Nancy Pelosi. I have to assume Mr Lee didn’t notice my dad extend his hand.

It was a relief in many ways when Mr Lee left.

Later on back at home my mom asked how our visit was and told her the scenario of Mr Lee and his obnoxious banter (shouting). My mom immediately jumped on the subject. I said I couldn’t put my finger quite on it, but something about Mr Lee rubbed me entirely the wrong way. My mom then proceeded to fill me in. And then my dad jumped in too.

Back in the late 1950’s when my parents and my uncle were starting out. My uncle bought a piece of land in rural Stratford. Mr Lee owned the land. My uncle built a house on the land thereby becoming Mr Lee’s neighbour. My uncle convinced my dad to buy the lot next door adjacent to my uncles house and abutting the railroad tracks. My dad paid Mr Lee $300 cash for the lot. In those days it was a fortune.

My dad went to city hall to get a building permit and was denied due to proximity to the railroad tracks. So my dad advised Mr Lee that the deal was off and asked for his money back. Mr Lee refused saying a deals a deal. My dad was not (and still isn’t ) the type to confront a situation. But that was a ton of money. So my dad went to a lawyer and explained the matter. The lawyer was entirely supportive of my dads position and advised my dad to go back to Mr Lee and threaten a lawsuit if he didn’t refund the money. So my dad did just that. Mr Lee was outraged but seemed to be very intimidated by the lawyer my dad mentioned would take up the suit. So begrudgingly Mr Lee agreed to pay back the $300. But he needed a payment plan. He didn’t have the funds.

My dad agreed to take $50 a pay until the refund was satisfied. Mr Lee however didn’t follow through. My dad again was prepared to walk away. But my mother intervened. She worked in the office of FAG in the payroll department no less. She took it upon herself to garnish Mr Lee’s pay as he had promised.

Mr Lee was furious! He threatened my dad to keep that woman out of their business. But my mother was resolved in her mission. $300 would be repaid no matter what. And it was. And Mr Lee was henceforth on the shit list.

Mr Lee tried (without any success whatsoever) to intimidate my dad at work. Writing official directives and signing them formally “Robert A Lee” but by then my dad had some confidence and the support of upper management in the company. Mr Lee’s attempts failed.

As the bard would say: politics make strange bed fellows.

All’s well that ends well.

There’s so many cliche sayings about living: enjoy every minute; just do it; there’s no time like the present…. the list goes on and on. Life on the other hand is finite. I choose to believe that our earthly energy carries on outside of our flesh and bones; there is an afterlife. We meet our tribe again including beloved pets. But the transition from life to death is painful both physically and emotionally.

We are saying goodbye to my uncle. My dads only brother. They’ve been through thick and thin since the early 1930’s. Born in a small town in eastern Germany (now Poland) to parents who worked hard and long days. Through the war as youngsters where starvation was commonplace . Through refugee processes that left them homeless; removed from their home suddenly and shipped separately to nearby farms to work and then ultimately transported to resettlement in west Germany. Through apprenticeships and work life. Through adventurous immigration to Canada. Through marriages and children. Through retirement. Then grandchildren and, for my uncle, great grandchildren. A full colourful life rich in experience and family.

We celebrated his 89 birthday in December. His spirit was good but his body betraying him a tall slender man, his once healthy figure was reduced to a thin frail wisp. It was mildly shocking to see. He was having difficulty eating; the doctors diagnosed IBS and he was waiting for further testing to be done the following month. Eating was painful and caused severe cramping and bloating. Only a few short weeks later he was admitted to hospital too weak to stand. IBS was in fact an aggressive stomach cancer.

He was sent to hospice yesterday.

My dad is experiencing a sad range of emotions. Typical grief cycle I presume. He went through a similar process when his best friend got sick and died. That was a much longer ordeal; his friend was not ready or willing to die. My uncle however seems resigned to his fate. At his birthday lunch last month i suggested we have a big party for his 90th; he smiled and chuckled. He’s said I won’t make it to 90.

Dad is angry that more wasn’t done or isn’t being done now to treat his brother. Of course you always want to have hope. It’s difficult to say if things might have played out differently had there been proper diagnosis and treatment of the real issue. But we do know that my dad and his brother are equally stubborn and tough. Not wanting to be a burden or admit weakness. Even to the point of great suffering and pain.

Dad is confused. During his daily visits to his brother in hospital he gets bits of information in and out of context. Dad is an uncomplicated man and this scenario is very complicated. He is not (wanting to) grasping the harsh reality of the situation. Logic and emotion are duelling in his mind and he’s missing the links.

They’ve taken my uncle off IV. My uncle told my dad he was going to starve to death. My dad heard him but didn’t want to listen or comprehend. It’s ironic that starvation would be a major factor in their lives again. My dad is internalizing his pain.

I’m sad to say goodbye but I know that he will receive a warm welcome in the afterlife. There’s many family and friends waiting for him. Including my cousin Barbara and their wonderful family dog Lady. Those left behind here will be sad. I just want to hug my dad.

Love the people God gave you because one day He’ll take them back.

Godspeed Onkel Heinz.

I’m not a morning person. Rudy is. Mostly. It makes for a challenge in retirement mode. I think retirement is the perfect excuse to sleep in. Or lounge in bed. Snuggle. Cuddle. Rudy likes to get up and get on with the day. But he also likes breakfast so he usually indulges me on the snoozing and I make him breakfast.

Today it was a bit overcast out. If the sun is shining I’m more likely to get up and go. On dull days it’s a good excuse to linger in bed. Luckily Molly can linger too. She’s a good sleeper and very patient. When we finally got up this morning, Rudy took Molly for a quick 318 while I made breakfast for them both. I’m not a breakfast person either for the most part. I get hungry late morning. And then I prefer lunch food rather than breakfast fare. Rudy loves eggs. Just like his dad.

While he ate I suggested we take advantage of the cloudy weather and take Molly on a road trip. She’s due for a car outing. It’s hard in the sunny weather since it gets too hot. Not fun for a fur ball. So we head out to Winter Haven. I would say it’s my favourite place to go wandering. It’s an upscale quaint suburb of Orlando. Complete with historic buildings, museums, boutiques, cafes, an old train station that still operates (as we found out today) and manicured parks. The historic downtown is bricked streets of approximately 6 blocks long and 4 wide. There’s lots to see. On Saturdays there’s a farmers market. Also very neat.

We did a nice walk of the entire town centre and window shopped. Among the unique boutiques is a Restoration Hardware and Williams Sonoma. There’s an Eileen Fisher store and next door they sell Jo Malone. All good!! Molly got admired and petted as usual. She enjoys every kind word.

Back at the car we decide to head to Lombardis. It’s a must do in the area. http://www.lombardis.com/

It’s the best fish mongers I’ve ever been to. And they have stone crab. And mustard sauce. If you haven’t had the pleasure I highly recommend it! They also have a small restaurant where you can eat their fish on site. Another must do. We buy 1.5 lbs of stone crab. Tonight’s dinner.

It didn’t disappoint. They have a shell cracking machine at Lombardis. You have to get these crabs cracked or else you need a hammer. The shells are hard as rock and would easily break a tooth if you bit into one. The mustard sauce (a mysterious composition of mayo, Dijon and horseradish that’s impossible to duplicate) is the perfect complement to the crabs. You eat them cold dipped in the sauce. Divine.

Stone crabs are one of the best things about Florida. And on our way home the sun came out.

Thanks for a great day ☀️